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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229594">Botanical Toxicology</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna'>WolffyLuna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Refractory Period, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen, non standard erogenous zones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/pseuds/WolffyLuna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>IMPORTANT UPDATE TO MIRDAIN SAFETY PROCEDURES: Do not handle unknown plant specimens without gloves and adequate ventilation. Risk of serious adverse events or death if these safety precautions are not followed</i>.</p><p>Or: Annatar <i>definitely</i> does not deliberately dose Celebrimbor with sex pollen. Because that would be wrong.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Heat Fic Summer 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Botanical Toxicology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleksrothis/gifts">aleksrothis</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I hope you like this!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Mirdain bustled in preparation for winter. Teams filled the store rooms with enough preserved food for those staying once the snows came in. Others chopped logs to restock the fire wood.  Botanists took inventories of the greenhouses, the smithies their ore, and the theorists their sheets of papyrus.</p><p>And Celebrimbor sat in the centre of it all, keeping the track of the logistics, a half-warm autumn breeze blowing through the open window of his office. Other years, his office had been a flurry of activity, people coming in and out with new problems constantly. But this year was quiet. The well-oiled machine of the Mirdain did not jam, and the preparations proceeded with an efficiency that left him at somewhat of a loose end. Which was better than chaos, of course, he wouldn’t say it wasn’t! ...but it did leave him just sitting at his office, staring at papers.</p><p>Annatar walked through the open door, holding a neatly folded piece of paper—No, something held inside folded paper. He’d been patrolling the grounds, ready to jump in and be a second pair of hands if a problem came up, and it seemed something had.  “The greenhouse team found something a bit unidentifiable.” He placed the paper on Celebrimbor’s desk. “I brought a cutting.”</p><p>Celebrimbor pulled it towards him. It was rare for something to sneak its way into the greenhouse, but weeds did grow, and labels did wear away.  “I’m fairly sure anyone on that team would have a better chance than I at identifying it. I never had much skill with plant lore.”</p><p>“The more eyes the merrier.”</p><p>“The more confusion, more like.” He unfolded the paper anyway.</p><p>The cutting had a woody stem, with flat, knife-shaped blue-grey leaves. At the end of each little branchlet, there was a profusion of scarlet flowers that were more balls of pollen then flowers.</p><p>He crushed a flower between his fingers and rubbed them together, without thinking, in some vain hope that maybe the feel of the pollen would help him identify it. He realised the basic problem with that idea as soon as he’d done it—even if it was possible to identify a plant just by the feel of its pollen, <em>he </em>wasn’t someone who could.</p><p>He sheepishly wiped the powder off on a sleeve, and pretended he didn’t just do that. The tips of his fingers… stung? Tingled? Burned? He couldn’t quite describe the sensation. Somewhere between pins and needles and the feeling you get he moment after you dropped something too hot out of your hands, but that didn’t quite contain the whole of it. It faded quickly. If he got a rash on his fingers—well, it would be his own fault for touching an unknown plant. And at least it didn’t seem to be a chemical burn.</p><p>He placed the cutting back in its paper, and slid it back towards Annatar. “No clue, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“I’m sure the greenhouse team will work what it is, eventually.” He smiled. “Even if it does end up shattering their current understanding of the field.”</p><p>“Discovery does get found in the least looked for places places.”</p><p>Annatar made a humming noise, and then walked over to one of Celebrimbor’s shelves. He stared at it for a second, before removing a book to look at its cover.</p><p>Presumably the greenhouse team did not expect him to return with an answer then. That boded well for their evaluation of Celebrimbor’s botanic skills. That is, they were aware that him coming up with an answer was a long shot and him being stumped did not need to be communicated. It was—refreshing? Slightly embarrassing, but overall reasonable? He went back to double checking the plans for the autumn stock take, making sure no detail was missed, that there was enough leeway in the schedule to make up for any slowdowns.</p><p>Annatar kept taking books off the shelves, and started re-arranging them. Re-alphabetising them, or putting them in some new categorisation system, Celebrimbor could not tell yet. He was about to comment that his personal bookshelves being in order was not a pre-winter priority, but Annatar was likely to reply with something about the importance of the small details and continue doing it anyway.</p><p>And things were going smooth enough that their Maia friend being a bit distractible was not a problem.</p><p>Celebrimbor kept watching, trying to work out the categorisation system. So far it looked like chronological order, which wasn’t the most useful organisational system, but was, at least, a system.</p><p>A breeze came through the window, and made Annatar’s loose hair flutter in it, light glinting off from its new angles. It was silky and fine, and silver-gold like pyrite, except with even more shine than the metallic lustre of that mineral—</p><p>--and he being distractible too. Not much harm in it, but still. It was the principle of the thing. He turned back to his papers, and the task of tallying up time.</p><p>He kept his head down, but he could still see Annatar moving out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>He moved with a certain confidence, a knowledge that any movement he would make was the correct movement without him having to think about it. It was fascinated to watch, even if that grace was being used in the service of rearranging a bookshelf in an unhelpful manner. Celebrimbor had not found this so distracting in the past, but it was possible that he was... bored. Yes, bored. That was the emotion that was happening. Things proceeded smoothly—which was undoubtedly good!—but it did not leave him with much to do, other than pretend to do maths and watch Annatar.</p><p>He tried to keep his eyes and mind on the page, with little success. Because he still had peripheral vision, and he could still see Annatar in it.</p><p>Just as fine as his movements was his body itself. Which seemed reasonable to notice and evaluate, because Annatar’s body was <em>created</em>. More reasonable than evaluating the body of someone who had not chosen their body like he had. Analysing his body was no different than analysing his artwork, or a tool that he made, because his body was both of those things. It was the tool he used to interact with the world, and a sculpture he had made to live in.</p><p>And it was certainly finely made. It had proportions so perfect that you could use him as a study aid for the ideal artistic dimensions, use him as a ruler for the golden ratio. But even with such perfection, there was still character in his features, a sign of artistic touch and creativity. The colour palette of he chose, cold and pale with just a touch of warmth from the gold tones in his hair. The way the musculature of his face moved in a quiet smile, the way his lips moved as he talked or breathed, so soft and inviting looking, crying out to be touched—</p><p>--and Celebrimbor was definitely getting more distracted than mere boredom could explain. And in a more... intense and particular manner. Watching someone rearranging bookshelves should not be arousing. Not even watching Annatar do that—and he had seen him rearrange bookshelves before, with no such effect!</p><p>He thumped his fist against his desk, to force his attention towards the sound and away from Annatar.</p><p>Annatar turned and looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern.</p><p>His teeth were chattering. Audibly. He hadn’t noticed that. How had he not noticed that? And he was shivering too, but he didn’t feel cold. Or not properly cold, not cold in the way you were when the outside was cold, but the cold you felt when a fever was building up in you, cold with a dim awareness that you were actually too hot.</p><p>Annatar walked over to him, and put the back of his hand on his brow. It felt blessedly cool, even though Annatar always ran hot. “You’re burning up.”</p><p>He suppressed the desire to lean completely into the hand, to grab at it as Annatar took it away, to just grab Annatar and... do something. “I think—I think it might be the plant.” Because it seemed the best explanation. It was the only thing different today from the usual. And it had burned when he touched it. “I think it might also, uh, be psychoactive.” Because it was the best explanation for the distractibility. His cheeks burned, and he could not tell if it was from the fever, or from the lightest acknowledgement of how <em>exactly</em> his distractibility was manifesting.</p><p>Annatar stood closer, and now the desire to touch and feel was stronger, and he had to fight the desire to paw at him like some—desperate, rutting creature, like a virgin bitch in heat that didn’t even know what she wanted.</p><p>“Ah. That explains it.”</p><p>“Explains what?”</p><p>“I may not be... unaffected either,” Annatar admitted.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Annatar seemed much more composed, but of course he would, he was <em>Maia</em>. He wasn't sure they were capable of being uncomposed. But the idea of Annatar of thinking about him that way, of wanting to touch him as much as he wanted to do likewise --  he had to slide past that line of thought, lest he get terminally distracted.</p><p>Annatar looked back at the folded paper, as if he could see through it to the cutting (which he might), and went quiet.</p><p>Celebrimbor couldn’t tell if it was his general agitation, or all his willpower being concentrated on the one task of not jumping into Annatar’s arms and mashing his mouth against his that made the silence stretch, or if it actually was a long silence. “What is it?” he said, trying not to sound impatient.</p><p>“There is a plant,” Annatar said slowly, still staring at the piece of paper, “that I know of. Have heard reports of, not seen. It was designed by Angband – and I use the term ‘designed’ very deliberately—such that exposure to it causes uncontrolled arousal, with… undesirable affects if it that is not relieved.”</p><p>“Ah.” Words were not where his brain was going. The pit of ice in his stomach chilled even his fever. Annatar was prone to understatement at the best of times. There were a lot of things that could be described as ‘undesirable’, but the lack of eye contact implied it was on the harsher end.</p><p>“I thought they had been destroyed along with the place, but perhaps not. And its affects could have weakened from generations in the wild--”</p><p>“That’s not a risk I would want to take. With either of us.” He gripped the edge of the table, the arousal mixing with fear making him light headed (but he would admit, at least to himself, that the arousal was winning.) “You should let the greenhouse team know. Tell them to burn it—or treat it gingerly, at least, we can’t know if the smoke is also dangerous.”</p><p>“Are you sure you want me to do that? I would not want to leave you like this—” he said with concern in his voice. Like he was worried that he’d come back to Celebrimbor seizing on the table. But then again, Annatar did say he was not unaffected, and Celebrimbor knew that he would not be leaving touch range right now if he could help it. ...His concern was likely a bit of both, Celebrimbor guessed.</p><p>“I can hold out,” Celebrimbor said, hoping it was not a lie. (His fingers itched with the desire to stroke Annatar’s hair, his body, to touch him and be touched and be made to feel good.) “And it would not help for more people to be exposed.”</p><p>Annatar nodded, and headed out.</p><p>He relaxed involuntarily, and it felt almost like a fog lifted, as Annatar left. If it was only strong when someone else was around, that was marvelous news. It implied they could ride out the fever separately, and that seemed much more… dignified, than the other possibilities. Implied this was a weaker type, a safer type, and no one had to worry—</p><p>—And then it crashed back into him, like being blatted in the face by a wave. Without the vent of being very distracted by how beautiful Annatar was (and he was certainly finely made), the effects became much more physical. He started to sweat, and his chattered teeth in a faster rhythm. His whole skin tingled, like a limb waking up from being asleep, hot and prickly. He could feel his clothes move against himself, the fine cotton now rough and coarse.</p><p>Heat and tension and desire pooled in his guts, hardened his cock, and he was filled a need to touch himself.</p><p>And he could. No one else was there—no one else touch him in place of himself, no one else to touch, and no one who could see him rutting against his own hand in attempt to make it stop, an attempt to crest the wave of pleasure building in him—</p><p>He gripped the edge of his desk. He was not going to do that. Because that was a shameful thing to do in your office when someone might come in and see you. (He was sure he would have had equally strong feelings about doing such things even if his door was locked, but they did not get much of a look in with half his mind occupied with incessant cries of ‘touch yourself! Just touch yourself!’). And Annatar would be returning soon. What would he think if he saw him like that?</p><p>Likely positively, considering he was affected—no. No, he was not going to put on a show for Annatar like that. Even if he would probably like it. They were close colleagues, and that was not a line he was going to cross without at least <em>checking, you stupid body</em>—And there was a good chance Annatar had some other solution. Something less personal. Some cure or elixir or ritual or some such. And he should want that. Should ask about that, before leaping to conclusions and onto him.</p><p>Annatar returned sooner than he expected. He must have run back from the greenhouse. He didn’t have the greatest grasp of time right now. And any explanation was enough for him, because Annatar was in front of him, beautiful and resplendent and it was taking all his will not to stand up and grab him.</p><p>He locked the door behind him as he entered, looking flushed and jittery.</p><p>Celebrimbor had not expected that. Annatar was always so composed, so in control of himself.</p><p>Did he look worse?</p><p>Annatar walked up, and felt his forehead again. Presumably yes, then.</p><p>He leaned up against the hand. It was delightfully cool, and more than that it was <em>touch</em>—His willpower broke. The thread holding him back snapped.</p><p>He took Annatar’s wrist in his hand – delighting for a second in the sensation of skin against skin, the temperature contrast and the slightly rough textures of each of their hands.He kissed each of Annatar’s knuckles in turn, the bones of his hand hard against his lips.</p><p>He shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have just grabbed his colleague’s, his friend, his fellow exposure-victim’s hand and kissed it. His face flushed with embarrassment and fever and desire and the desire was winning—he mumbled something apology shaped against his knuckles, feeling every movement of his lips more acutely (had the pollen made his <em>mouth</em> more sensitive--?)</p><p>“You are affected by a toxin,” Annatar said, with appropriate amount of authority for talking to someone kissing his hand against their will, “And we are going to have to <em>manage</em> that. It may not be ideal circumstances, but we will.”</p><p>He took his face away from Annatar’s hand. Kept holding it, because he couldn’t bear to break away all contact. He knew what he was implying, and he had to speak clearly about this, as much as he could, had to control his body’s out of control impulses. “You don’t have to. I’d understand. Really.”</p><p>“Now, Celebrimbor, I <em>like</em> you. Certainly enough to not want you to die.” So that was how undesirable affects could be. “Or even have to wear a coat all year like one of those silly bald lapdogs, because you can’t control your own temperature correctly.”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>Annatar cut him off. “Its not ideal circumstances, as I said. But I’m happy to help.”</p><p>“I don’t really know what I am doing.” He had some idea of the basic mechanics, the theory, but he had no experience with the implementation of that theory.</p><p>The hard authority on his face melted into an indulgent smile, and he stroked Celebrimbor’s cheek, partially with Celebrimbor’s own hand because it was still attached. “Single elves rarely do. I would suggest doing whatever ‘feels natural,’ but that isn’t very helpful advice, is it? Treat it as a journey of mutual discovery.”</p><p>“Okay,” he said. Most of his power for language production was being diverted to processing the sensation of Annatar’s hand on his cheek.</p><p>This whole situation was—he wanted to think ‘unpleasant,’ but the actual emotion was more like ‘embarrassment.’ Embarrassment at what his body was doing to him, embarrassment at how his mind was following along. Embarrassment at the fact that he should be scared, he could <em>die</em>, but there had always been a lingering desire. He had wanted Annatar for a long time. He had not acted on it, because he never felt the need to, never felt a reason to take that risk, and he shouldn’t be on some level happy that he had an excuse. He did not want to die, but he wanted to touch Annatar more, and he could not be sure how much that was the plant’s poison and how much was just him. The body situation was an acute, visceral, humiliation, the normal control of his hröa stripped away from him. And there was the predicted embarrassment of what would happen when he actually tried to… do something, because he didn’t know what to do. Touching was good, and he was aware of the body parts involved—but it was like waiting at the wings of a stage, about to give a speech you had never practiced before.</p><p>...No time like the present. Especially with a deadline. He let go of Annatar’s hand, stood up, leaned over, and kissed him. Kissing seemed like a pretty reasonable first step.</p><p>Annatar’s lips were warm-cool --his ability to accurately sense temperature was definitely shot-- and soft against his, with just a hint of the hardness of the teeth behind them. He could feel every ridge of the skin against his own lips, the sensation turned to pleasure like his lips were his cockhead. (The toxin had definitely made his mouth more sensitive, otherwise he would have got terminally distracted when eating.)</p><p>And he hadn’t thought any further than just putting his lips on Annatar’s. Kissing presumably involved more than that, but he didn’t know what that would be, had just jumped in head first and then got surprised when he didn’t know what to do next.</p><p>Annatar took the lead, putting a hand on the back of Celebrimbor’s head and actually moving his mouth.</p><p>It was glorious. Celebrimbor tried to follow for a moment, tried to follow the movements and match them, but he stopped. The sensation was too distracting to try and do something complicated like ‘work out how to kiss’ at the same time. And the ability to just stop, and have Annatar take the lead, be the one who knew what he was doing, was freeing and wonderful. He could just stand there, and have pleasure happen to him.</p><p>It felt like cheating. But the best kind of cheating.</p><p>Annatar smiled against him as Celebrimbor relaxed, held in place by the hand on his head and the face on his face.  The kiss grew hungrier, Annatar opening his mouth wider, biting the bottom of Celebrimbor’s lip, before going very still.</p><p>Someone else, someone watching from the outside, might have had said it was a calculating stillness, the stillness of someone working out their next move.</p><p>But Celebrimbor could almost hear Annatar’s willpower breaking like a harp string snapping from a change in atmospheric pressure.</p><p>He broke off the kiss, let go of Celebrimbor’s head, and then—</p><p>Celebrimbor couldn’t quite process it. It happened to fast, and the new sensitivity of his skin kept him too distracted to keep much track of what was going on. It involved being grabbed--which felt good, because everything felt good-- a moment of weightlessness as Annatar took his whole weight –which felt better—and then he was on the other side of the desk.</p><p>Annatar took of Celebrimbor’s robes with a harsh efficiency, single-mindedly heading for his goal of Celebrimbor’s nakedness.</p><p>Celebrimbor tried to follow him, but only got as far as getting Annatar’s robe half off his shoulder by the time he was completely naked.</p><p>Annatar looked him up and down, both hot and hungry and coolly evaluating.</p><p>He was not the work of art that Annatar was. He was flesh, undeliberately made, and arguably misused, with the scars to prove that. But Annatar seemed to find what he saw to his liking, the evaluation turning into a small smile.</p><p>He dropped to his knees with dancer’s poise.</p><p>Celebrimbor’s cock bobbed in front of his face. “Uh,” he said, because presumably he should say <em>something</em>, but he wasn’t sure what it was and he opened his mouth before he could think of something. He had a good guess at what Annatar was aiming for, at least. But that did not give him much of an idea of what <em>he</em> was meant to do. Hopefully just standing still was acceptable? That was the plan. Maybe sweet nothings? But he never had much skill with those at the best of times, and this was not the best of times.</p><p>Annatar looked up at him, smiling, and put a hand on his hip to make his brace himself against the table. “Relax.”</p><p>So, standing still was an acceptable option. Noted. </p><p>Annatar stroked his cock, watching its reactions, watching <em>his</em> reactions.</p><p>He stayed very still. He knew how to be still, knew what it entailed. Attempting anything else would have ended in failure. He was having enough trouble just breathing. It was like every nerve was alight, like every part of his body fell away leaving just his cock, all his attention forced to be focused on those sensations, the gentle, rhythmic pressure.</p><p>And then Annatar put him in his mouth. Heat, like a crucible, warm and wet like molten metal.</p><p>He choked out a gasp, that he swore he could hear echo around the room.</p><p>Annatar’s eye crinkled, like he would smile if his mouth were less occupied. And then he started moving.</p><p>Celebrimbor couldn’t stay quiet. He could stay quiet or still and he was having enough trouble with ‘still’, stopping his hips from trying to chase after Annatar’s mouth. He was vaguely thankful that his office was very much out of the way and already well sound proofed, but he did not have the brain power to think about that in much depth. His hands gripped the table, trying to keep himself anchored against the ever-mounting tension in his guts, inching closer and closer to release.</p><p>He tried to give a warning, but it came out as something garbled and high pitched.</p><p>Another eye crinkle.</p><p>And then he came. All the tension released in one burst that would have had him on the floor if he hadn’t been sandwiched between Annatar and the table, a crack like a whip that rushed through his body so hard that made his legs shake.</p><p>And he was still hard. <em>Damn. </em></p><p>Annatar didn’t seem to pay what just happened much mind. He couldn’t have failed to notice. But he didn’t see it as a reason to stop what he was doing, the gentle rocking back and forth of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue underneath Celebrimbor’s cock.</p><p>It felt vaguely sacrilegious to have a Maia on his knees for you. But it felt good. The sensation was intense, just on this side of the pleasure, dancing along the razor’s edge with pain on the other side.  “Thank you,” he said, taking the brief window of opportunity for coherent speech.</p><p>It did not take as long as last time, and even last time was remarkably quick, before he was cresting the wave again with unmuffled cries.</p><p>And Annatar just keep going. Kept moving with an enviable mechanical precision and far too much smugness. Kept going until Celebrimbor was coming continuously, nearly pitching himself to the floor in a wave of sensation. Kept going until the razor’s edge snapped.</p><p>Celebrimbor put a hand on his shoulder, and gently pushed him back. “That’s—a bit much.”</p><p>“That comes with the territory, from what I heard.” He looked to unperturbed, too unruffled, for someone who was affected, Maia or no. It was unfair.</p><p>Celebrimbor took a moment to get his breath back. “Are you—doing okay?” Because it seemed only reasonable to ask. Appearances could be deceiving.</p><p>“As good as can be expected,” he said, still looking a little smug. (But that was close to his default facial expression.) “Lower dose, Maia: I was never a concern.”</p><p>“I could still—help?” Because he couldn’t quite say the exact words without being too embarrassed, even considering what had just happened. Which was not ideal and a little ridiculous, but not necessarily something he could stop.</p><p>“I am more than fine, I assure you. A little uncomfortable, but no more than that.”</p><p>Celebrimbor sank to his knees. “I would like to help, if you’d let me.” Because he did feel it was unfair for Annatar to have to do all the work, but also because he remembered what kissing was like. Remembered how sensitive his mouth was. And that seemed worth experimenting with.</p><p>Annatar stood up, and walked around to lean against the table. “If you do insist,” he said with an indulgent smile. He pulled a string hidden in his robe, and it fell to the floor in an instant puddle.</p><p>Annatar was remarkable. Celebrimbor had been aware of that before, more than aware of that, but that fact didn’t have the importance it had now that he was naked, now that he could see just how well-crafted his fána was in its entirety. And he hadn’t had the opportunity to admire the artistry of… certain parts before.</p><p>His cock could have been used as an illustration in an anatomy text. Neat, for lack of a better word. Straight, and at a 45 degree angle you could use the long side of an angle square. Perfectly proportioned. There was some question of how it was going to fit into his mouth, but not too much of one. It wasn’t an inherently absurd task doomed to inevitable failure.</p><p>But he was definitely going to have to think about it. And stare at that erection. For thinking purposes. He had some of an idea of how this was meant to proceed, but a plan of action never hurt.</p><p>Annatar looked down at him. Not impatiently, but with anticipation. And a certain appreciation for how Celebrimbor looked staring at his cock.</p><p>He took a deep breath to steel himself, and put his mouth around the head of his cock. Careful of his teeth, careful that he wasn’t somehow making an embarrassing beginners’ mistake. Annatar’s foreskin slid over his lips, a gentle slide—<em>Oh. </em>He doubted he would regard the toxin positively in the future, certainly not after it’s affects washed out of him, but how sensitive it made his mouth, how it made his lips and sensitive as his cock head, his tongue as sensitive as the shaft? He predicted he would miss that.</p><p>He slid his mouth down slowly, trying to avoid the catch of his gag reflex, but mostly savouring the sensations. The warm weight of Annatar against his tongue, the taste somewhere between salty flesh and smooth marble. He groaned, involuntarily. Heat pooled in his guts again.</p><p>Annatar stroked a thumb across his hairline. “My, you certainly are a pretty sight. Not that you aren’t beautiful when you are in more control of yourself, of course.”</p><p>As a plan to avoid being overstimulated, it wasn’t a good one. He just moved the centre of where the over-stimulation was happening, his world focusing into the single point of his lips and his tongue and the weight of Annatar’s cock in his mouth. The feelings were hard to turn into words, sensations stapled to the wrong body parts.</p><p>Drool dripped down his chin. He knew Annatar had been neater, and he certainly didn’t know the trick of it, but he didn’t care. How could he?</p><p>Annatar moved his hand to stroke his hair. The rest of him stayed still, with statue like calmness. “So wonderful.”</p><p>He leaned up into the touch and into the words as much as he could.</p><p>Annatar’s cock twitched in his mouth. “You’re doing so well. I don’t even need to tell you what to do.”</p><p>And that warmed him even more than the slowly breaking fever. He was doing well, he was making it up as he went along and it was <em>working</em>, he wasn’t making a fool of himself.</p><p>Annatar came in his mouth.</p><p>Celebrimbor swallowed it down. It tasted—good? Salty, but good. Though he could not be sure that his taste buds had not gone strange.</p><p>The movement in his mouth, the ropes of semen going down his throat, the pleasure of making someone else come, whirled and twisted inside him, and he came. It took him a second to come down off that high, and notice what just happened.</p><p>He’d came from having a cock in his mouth. Nothing else. Just that.</p><p>Annatar patted the top of his head affectionately.</p><p>He pulled off, half to get his breath back, and half to talk. “Would you like to keep going?”</p><p>Annatar smiled. “If you would be willing.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Celebrimbor woke up slowly. Damp sweat clung to him, along with a blanket he had some how rolled himself up in like a pastry. He opened his eyes.</p><p>He was in his study. Which made a certain amount of sense, seeing as he didn’t remember leaving it. Though he didn’t remember deciding to fall asleep in there either.</p><p>He sat upright. He could remember a reasonable chunk of yesterday, even a reasonable chunk of time where he was… affected, but after a certain point it became a blur of ‘presumably either sex or sleeping’. Which was somewhat concerning? But as effects of toxins went, a little bit of amnesia could be a lot worse.</p><p>And he did feel better. He had a slight dehydration headache, but nothing water and salt couldn't cure.</p><p>Annatar sat at his desk, more clothed and neat than was fair. “Ah, you’re awake.” His quill scratched as he wrote. “You fell asleep, and I wasn’t sure leaving you alone in your quarters was… advisable.”</p><p>He rubbed his eyes to get the sleep-sand out of them. “You would know better than me.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t give me too much credit, I was making up yesterday as I went along too. Maybe not as much as you did, of course—” He cut himself off. “I am not an expert on the toxicology of that particular plant. Though you are less feverish now.”</p><p>Celebrimbor cocked an eyebrow at him.</p><p>“I did check earlier this morning.” The raised eyebrow was returned. “Did you think I would just assume that it would pass without checking?”</p><p>“I don’t feel affected any more. I could be wrong though.”</p><p>“And don’t give yourself too little credit, either.” He stood up from the desk, and handed him a pitcher of water.</p><p>He took a sip. Sugared salt water. Celebrimbor drank the rest anyway. Efficiency was efficiency. He wiped his chin. “Thank you. Both for this,” he said, holding up the pitcher, “and yesterday, in general. I—appreciate it. Even if it wasn’t necessarily something you would have chosen.”</p><p>“I appreciate your appreciation,” he said, smiling with the knowledge of his phrasing. “And I do have to bear some responsibility. I handed you the plant. It is, arguably, my fault.”</p>
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